


Here You Come Again

by ZoS



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Hardly any heterosexuality, Mainly F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: "Impulse" had not been in her lexicon; instead she knew, all too well, how to deny herself things, pleasurable things, things that could make her happy, that could be enjoyable.Miranda makes a decision that takes her down a road of self-discovery and raises the question: what does happiness mean to Miranda Priestly?





	Here You Come Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really long one, I know, but I thought it would work better as a one-shot instead of splitting it into chapters.
> 
> Title is from the Dolly Parton song by the same name, which I've been obsessed with ever since seeing the movie Dumplin'.
> 
> Warning: Contains a teeny, tiny bit of heterosexuality. My apologies.

**MIRANDA**

As the cab pulls up, she extracts an anti-bacterial wipe from a packet in her bag and wipes her hands, arms, and elbows--any exposed piece of skin that might have touched anything. It's a practice she's quite adept at by now. But soon, she hopes, she won't have to take any more cabs. Or at least she wants to hope.

The driver is staring at her through the rearview mirror and she refuses to make eye contact with him. She wonders if he's trying to figure out what someone like her is doing in his godforsaken cab or if he's just waiting to be paid.

Pulling a bill out of her wallet, she offers it to him like a sword. "Keep the change," she says brusquely and his eyes shift back up to the mirror, but she's already opening the door--using the wipe as a buffer between it and her hand--and getting out.

The corridor seems to stretch out forever. She's walked it many times, knows the carpet's pattern by heart, and remembers exactly what the room number is, but this time it seems longer than usual, as if it's mocking her, stalling the inevitable.

She knows exactly what she'll find inside the room and she's not sure she wants to. Going in there, that will have to be it. She can't chicken out this time. She's built a reputation of someone who's afraid of nothing--who instills the fear in everyone else instead--and this time will have to be no different. Because this isn't work, this isn't a photoshoot gone wrong or an incompetent employee. This is her life.

She stops outside room 310, her hand on the handle. The door is already unlocked. She doesn't know what's going to happen once she's inside the room, but she can guess and her guess is pretty terrifying.

One thing she does know for certain, though: they can't do this anymore.

The door is heavier to open than usual. Her muscles feel like boiled spaghetti. The hand on the handle is trembling and she glares at it, willing it to get its shit together with her mind. But then she has no more time to psyche herself into calming down because she's inside the room, closing the door quietly behind her and taking quick, sure steps through the small foyer until she's face to face with the figure on the bed, coming to a halt a few feet away.

"Finally," Andrea says in a sultry voice and Miranda can already feel her knees go weak--in arousal? In fear? She's not sure. "I was beginning think you'd stand me up."

Andrea is sprawled on her side, her head supported by a propped up arm, and she's already stripped out of her blouse, looking exquisite in a white pencil skirt, a black bra, and a radiant smile. Miranda's breath quickens and she purses her lips, trying to get herself under control.

She turns and deposits her handbag on a table before sliding out of her coat and ever so slowly hanging it on the back of a chair. She can feel Andrea's big eyes following her every movement and she's too nervous to look back. But then she has nothing left to do but turn around.

Andrea is no longer smiling--she looks apprehensive now, as if she can sense the change in the atmosphere. Miranda draws a deep breath and looks her directly in the eye. "We need to talk."

\---

_"...and Michaela got a new haircut and now she looks like a lesbian truck driver."_

_Cassidy let out a peal of laughter at her sister's comment, throwing her head back as though it was the funniest thing she had ever heard, before nodding and adding, "We told her so during recess and she got all butthurt."_

_Caroline rolled her eyes in a traditional Priestly fashion. "If she didn't want people making fun of her, she shouldn't have gotten such an ugly haircut."_

_"Is Michaela the one whose father works for_ Wildes & Weinberg _?" Stephen asked thoughtfully from the head of the table._

_Cassidy shrugged her shoulders. "How should we know?"_

_"We did some business with them a while back," he continued, now directing his words at his wife across the table. "I have no idea why they hired that idiot, the man is no more competent than a sack of potatoes." His laugh at his own joke (he was the only one laughing) echoed in Miranda's ears._

_Andrea. She'd been occupying her thoughts all evening, ever since she'd texted the younger woman earlier, telling her to meet her at their hotel room tomorrow at 11 A.M., sharp._

_Their week had been too packed and hectic for them to see each other outside of work, but perhaps it was just as well because tomorrow would be Saturday and Miranda would have plenty of time to do what she had to do without rushing._

_She didn't have a choice. It had gone on long enough, and she knew she was equally to blame--even more so than Andrea, really--for allowing it to even start, but it was time to put an end to it._

_An end to her stupidity, to her carelessness, selfishness. She'd been acting like an irresponsible child and dragging Andrea right along with her. Except this could hurt her a lot more than Andrea. After all, they both had things to lose, but she was the one with a family, with a reputation, with decades of hard work building an image and an empire that could go down the drain just like that, just because she hadn't been able to control herself._

_And she was a pro at controlling herself, or at least she had been before Andrea. "Impulse" had not been in her lexicon; instead she knew, all too well, how to deny herself things, pleasurable things, things that could make her happy, that could be enjoyable. And then Andrea had come along, that damn girl, and ruined everything, ruined her._

_"Miranda?" Stephen's voice came back to her ears, as if from far away, and her eyes refocused on her plate, where her potatoes had been absentmindedly mashed to death._

_Lifting her gaze, she found his and for a second a bout of rage surged through her, white and hot and unexpected, and her fingers tightened around her fork in a white-knuckle grip. Blinking and putting her fork down, she made a "hmm?" sound._

_"Did you hear a word I said?" he asked._

_"Sure, darling," she answered softly and promptly raised her water glass to her lips, avoiding his gaze._

_"Well? What do you say?"_

_Uh-oh. Say about what? Now her daughters were staring at her, too, their faces hopeful, and she realized she had zoned out completely, missing a major part of the conversation._

_Well, there was no way out of it. Cocking her head, she raised an eyebrow, her look questioning but not guilty._

_Now Stephen was beginning to look irritated. "I told the twins we could go to the mall tomorrow, pick out their new laptops, if you're okay with that?"_

_The look he gave her was challenging, as if he was saying, "See? I can parent them." Like buying them presents was what parenting was all about. He still kept calling them "the twins," even though Miranda had stopped long ago, realizing it bothered them now that they were growing older and developing individual personalities. As close as they were, which Miranda was grateful for, they each wanted to be her own person and not part of a unit, which Miranda had explained to Stephen time and again, but for some reason, he found it hard to grasp._

_It usually grated on the girls' nerves, but now they hadn't even flinched, their attention focused on her expectantly. Well._

_She raised the glass up to her lips again and said dismissively, "I'll have one of my assistants get the laptops, just tell me what colors you want," before taking a sip._

_"But_ Mom _," Caroline complained, to her surprise. "We want to go and pick ourselves, like Danny did."_

_"Who's Danny?" She frowned at her daughter and this time it was Cassidy's turn to roll her eyes._

_"From school, Mom," she said impatiently._

_The hopeful look returned to both their faces and now Stephen was staring at her, too, waiting for her input. His gaze was sharp and she couldn't wait to hear later, out of the girls' earshot, what she had done wrong this time. With a sigh, she shook her head in surrender. "Fine. Go pick out your laptops."_

_"Yes!" Cassidy pumped her fist in the air and Caroline grinned from ear to ear. Stephen, though, was still boring his eyes into hers and she did her best to look anywhere else._

_"Do you want to come with us?" he asked gruffly, taking her by surprise._

_Quickly schooling her features, she gave him a blank stare and looked away. "Oh, no, I have work to do. I think I might have to go into the office for an hour of so," she added as though the thought had just occured to her. Then she smiled gently at Caroline and patted her hand on top of the table. "You go and later show me what you got."_

_Caroline smiled back, obviously too excited about the awaiting adventure to care about anything else, before turning to Stephen. "Can I get a pink laptop?" she asked._

_"We'll see what they have," he answered patiently, his focus also removed from Miranda. "What kind of computer do you want, do you know?"_

_"A laptop!" Cassidy chimed._

_"Duh." Caroline gave her a "you're an idiot" look. "He means what brand, dummy."_

_"Oh! I want the new_ MacBook _because the one I have is too small and..."_

_The kids, once again, delved into their incessant chatter and Miranda was once again able to get lost in her thoughts._

_She watched Stephen, listening to her girls and laughing thunderously at something that probably wasn't even that funny, and her heart clenched. They were a bad fit for each other--that much had been clear to her for a very long time--but he was good with the girls and they liked him, which had taken them quite a while._

_This wasn't worth ruining, not for her selfish reasons. She couldn't do it to her girls, couldn't put them through another divorce, another disappointment. Their lives were tumultuous enough, with paparazzi and a mother who wasn't home enough, and they were just on the verge of starting their teenage years. If she could offer them at least one shred of stability, she would, no matter the cost. She wouldn't take it away from them._

_No, she didn't have a choice. She and Andrea had to stop._

\---

"Please don't do this," Andrea whispers pleadingly, already guessing what Miranda is about to say. Perhaps she's seen it coming.

Miranda hardens her jaw and looks away. "Andrea," she sighs.

Andrea rises from the bed, standing on the other side of it, across from her. "Why?" is all she asks and Miranda's eyes return to her, wide and outraged.

"Why?" she repeats in disbelief.

"We have a good thing going, don't we?" Andrea asks desperately, her chin already starting to tremble.

"Andrea, I am married," Miranda states roughly. Her hands fly to her hips. "You have a boyfriend."

"Oh, w-we're gonna play that card?" Andrea's hand impatiently pushes her bangs out of her eyes. "Because it hasn't been a problem the last five months."

"Well, it is," Miranda states matter-of-factly.

"What brought this on?" Andrea frowns. Then her eyes widen and she looks horrified. "Has-has something happened? Has Stephen... he doesn't know, does he?"

Miranda shakes her head. "No, Stephen doesn't know anything. Thank god." She sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Andrea gingerly crawl back onto the bed and settle on her knees behind her. Her hand reaches out and touches Miranda's upper arm gently and she's still half-naked from the waist up and Miranda has to fight herself really hard not to throw her down on the bed and fuck her senseless. She twitches and Andrea get the wrong idea--well, no, it's the right idea, Miranda reminds herself--and moves her hand away.

"So..." Andrea begins cautiously, "if he doesn't know, then it's all-- it's all good, right? I mean, what's changed?"

"What's changed, Andrea," Miranda tries to control her voice, keep the emotion out of it, sound like she does when she speaks to her underlings at _Runway_ , "is that I've finally come to my senses."

Breaking up with someone is just like firing them, she tells herself. She just needs to be authoritative and detached and she'll be okay. Besides, this isn't even a breakup because they were never a couple, so this should be easy. It should be.

"What does that even mean?" Andrea asks, her voice rising, and Miranda can tell she's getting frustrated. The last thing she needs is a scene.

"It means that this has been a mistake from the beginning and I never should have let myself get into it, let alone drag you with me," she says and gets up, heading for her bag and coat. She wonders if she could make a clean break out of there or if Andrea would be stupid enough to chase her down the hall.

"Uh, drag me with you?" The edge in Andrea's voice makes her turn around and her eyes widen momentarily before resuming their blank gaze. Andrea is sitting up on her knees, arms folded across her semi-bare chest, and her brows furrowed in anger. "For your information, Miranda, I'm an adult competent of independant thought. You didn't make me do anything. I chose this. I choose to be here," she finishes hotly, her finger pointing at the bed beneath her.

"Do you," Miranda says dryly.

"Yeah." Andrea nods and climbs off the bed. She starts heading toward Miranda, who has to will herself to stay in place and not back up against the table. "And you know what else?"

Miranda takes a deep breath to reply with something inane like "What?" before deflating and letting the breath out through her nose. Her chest sinks.

Andrea continues nevertheless, "I think you're scared." This time, Miranda can't stop her eyes from widening. Andrea is standing close now, almost close enough to invade her personal space, and her face is flushed with anger. Miranda is pretty sure hers is about a hundred shades paler. "I think shit is getting real and you're getting scared. That's what I think."

Miranda's heart is beating so fast in her chest she can hardly breathe. "You don't know what you're talking about," she murmurs, but her voice is even softer than usual and not at all convincing.

"Right," Andrea scoffs and goes to retrieve her blouse. Finally. Grateful for the space, Miranda heaves out a quiet breath. She knew this wouldn't be easy, but knowing and experiencing Andrea's reaction are two different things. She's not used to Andrea lashing out--sweet, wholesome, Midwestern Andrea--and it's truly terrifying to be on the receiving end of it. Perhaps because Andrea is the only person who's ever really been able to see beyond her walls and through to her. How unfortunate.

She doesn't register the few steps she takes toward her until Andrea is buttoning up her silken, teal blouse and turning back to face her, stopping her in her tracks.

"I'm not giving up so easily," she states and Miranda's heart squeezes painfully in her chest. It would have been so much simpler if Andrea had called her a bitch and stormed out, saving Miranda the hard work. Breakups have never been this difficult before.

"Well," she says and her voice shakes just a little bit, "I'm afraid you have no choice, Andrea."

Once more, she turns and heads for the table on unsteady legs. She's thankful for the silence that ensues--except for Andrea's heavy breaths--and thinks that perhaps she will be able to make that clean break after all. But just as she's slipping her second arm into her coat sleeve, Andrea says something she has never said before.

"Leave him." Her voice is steady and strong and Miranda spins around in outrage to find her looking intently into her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Leave him," she repeats, unaffected.

"Are you out of your mind?" she hisses. "Leave him? Do-do you hear yourself?"

"Yes," Andrea breathes out and moves toward her, her arms outstretched. Miranda takes an unconscious step back, but then Andrea's hands are on her wrists, holding her in place. "Leave him and I'll leave Nate and and we'll finally be able to be together, no more sneaking around, no more hotels or--"

"Able to--" Miranda breathes, her eyes wide. "You--you've completely lost your mind. Completely lost your..." she falters, disengaging herself from Andrea's grasp and moving to grab her bag.

"Miranda," Andrea calls and she rounds on her once again.

"How stupid are you?" she spits. Andrea's eyes widen.

"Stu--"

"You think it's that easy? Me leaving my husband, you leaving your boyfriend, and both of us living happily ever after, out in the open, unapologetically?"

"Yeah, what's so wrong with th--"

"Have you forgotten that you're still half my age? Still a woman? Still working for me?"

"So I'll quit!" Andrea throws her arms at her sides.

"Quit. How astute."

"Yeah! I'll get a new job and then no one will be able to say anything, if that's what you're worried about--"

"Andrea, I don't want to be with you," Miranda cuts her off, her voice rising ever so slightly.

Andrea shuts up, then crosses her arms and shakes her head defiantly. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want, but this is over." She sighs and approaches Andrea, who looks more miserable than Miranda's ever seen her. It gives her an unwelcome pain in her chest and she reaches for the side of her face, cupping it tenderly before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Andrea's eyes bore into hers and she refuses to look away. Her tone is softer than usual when she says, "This was fun while it lasted. But you were nothing more than a plaything, Andrea."

It hurts her to say those words probably more than it hurts Andrea to hear them, because that couldn't be farther from the truth, but no matter. Andrea needed to hear them for her to be able to let go and move on. Let her hate Miranda--she wouldn't be the first and certainly not the last.

Her hand drops back to her side and she watches Andrea process her words, can practically see the wheels turning in her head. She hopes Andrea believes her, and at the same time wishes she doesn't.

Eventually, Andrea pushes past her and she turns around to see her pick her bag up off the floor. How many times has she told her not to put her designer bags on the floor? Especially in this dingy hotel.

She stops short of opening the door and turns back to Miranda, her chin trembling again. She shrugs her shoulders and says in a broken voice, "I love you." Miranda has to stop the gasp that wants to come out. They've never said those words--she didn't even think Andrea felt that way--and this is such inconvenient timing. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

Miranda's heart squeezes like a fist and the tightness in her chest is so bad she fears she might end up having a heart attack. Or a panic attack. Which would be completely unacceptable because Miranda Priestly doesn't have panic attacks. "Panic" is also not part of her lexicon. So instead she looks away and says, "You're young. You don't know what love is."

She thinks she can see in Andrea's face the exact moment her heart breaks, and hers does, too. Andrea's eyes are shiny and Miranda can tell she's making an effort to keep the tears at bay. Finally, she sniffs and, in a voice barely above a whisper, spits, "Fuck you, Miranda," then turns on her heel and leaves, letting the door slam behind her.

Miranda startles at the sound, then stares at the door. For a crazy second, she wants to laugh because now she wants to chase Andrea down the hall. And tell her what? She doesn't know.

She heaves out a sigh. She sits down on the edge of the bed. She stares at the door. She's still wearing her coat.

\---

_Miranda wanted to kill Stephen. Quite literally. She could imagine wrapping her fingers around his throat and watching the life ebb away from his eyes. It gave her immense satisfaction._

_"Are you even listening to me?" His voice was whiny and annoying and she wanted so much to slam the phone back into its cradle._

_Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on, and said in a low voice, because there could still be people around, "Yes, Stephen, I am listening. But what do you want me to do? Hmm? Leave my work and come home right now?"_

_"For a start, sure. Yeah. That'd be nice."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Please. Stephen, you know that's not possible. Please be reasonable."_

_"I'm being reasonable, Miranda. There is nothing reasonable about still being at the office after 10 P.M."_

_"I told you, I still have work to do," she insisted, her voice taking on a pleading tone she hated. She sounded so pathetic, having to explain herself to her husband, who should have been understanding and supportive. "I'm not here for fun."_

_"Aren't you?"_

_Taken aback, her eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?"_

_"I don't know, Miranda. I don't know." She heard him sigh. "Sometimes I wonder if you love your job more than your family."_

_Now really wanting to hang up, she scoffed. "Please, what a ridiculous thing to say."_

_"Is it?"_

_"Of course!" she answered immediately, her voice coming out sharper than she'd intended. Lowering it back down, she pleaded again, "Stephen..."_

_"The twins asked about you tonight," he said and her heart clenched with guilt. She looked out of the window in front of her--the sky was dark but for the lights coming out of the various skyscrapers, blocking out the stars._

_Her girls were already asleep, of course, and she hadn't gotten the chance to tuck them in. She usually was home long before their bedtime, and they all had dinner while the girls talked about their day, finishing each other's sentences. Of course when she got home tonight, she would check in on them and kiss each of their heads, but it wouldn't be the same. She hated disappointing her girls._

_Sighing in defeat, she said, "Stephen, work just piled up today, it's been crazy. I have to stay, I wouldn't if I didn't, you know that, don't you?" Silence ensued. "Darling?"_

_"You're never here, Miranda," he said quietly. "For me. You're never here for me. You are for the twins, I'll give you that,"--she gritted her teeth to keep from correcting him about the "twins" since now was definitely not the right time--"but... damn it, Miranda, we're married. Do you know how long it's been since we last had sex?"_

_"I--" she began, but stopped because, actually, no, she didn't. She couldn't remember._

_Reading her thoughts, he said, "Exactly," and she closed her mouth. "I'll let you know that any other man would have cheated long ago. But I don't because I love you."_

_Closing her mouth had been premature because her lips opened right back up, forming a perfect O shape. "What are you saying?" she asked once she'd recovered from the shock. "Are you threatening to cheat? Is that what you're saying? Is this an ultimatum? Be a good, little wife or you'll find some other woman?"_

_"No, that's not what I'm saying, goddamnit!" he roared and she startled, pulling the phone away from her ear momentarily. Then, probably remembering the slumbering kids in the house, he lowered his voice, but the anger was still very clear in it, sounding like he was speaking through gritted teeth. "I never said anything about being a good, little wife. I'd just like you to try to be as dedicated to me as you are to your job."_

_"I told you, if I could, I would." The pleading tone was back in Miranda's voice, this time accompanied by urgency and desperation, and she really wanted to gag. "But right now, it's just not possible."_

_"Yes, right now, and the week before and the month before. But I'm always available to come with you to your balls and benefits and whatever, and be presentable and keep my mouth shut when people call me Mr. Priestly."_

_Her eyebrows rising, Miranda gave a mirthless chuckle. "So that's your problem? People calling you Mr. Priestly? You feel emasculated?" For hevean's sake, Stephen had known, from the very beginning, exactly what he was marrying into._

_"And what if I do?"_

_"Then get over it," she spat. "And if you can't, I'm sure there are plenty of other women willing to let you wear the pants. By all means, go to them, feel like a man again."_

_With that, she spun in her chair and slammed the phone into the receiver... only to come face to face with a wide-eyed Andrea, just about to place a_ Starbucks _cup on her desk._

_She felt her cheeks burn, while Andrea looked whiter than chalk. She had no idea what she looked like right now, but by the look on Andrea's face and her trembling hands, she guessed it was pretty terrifying, which did give her some small comfort. Very small._

_Her mind wandered back to an argument she'd had with her husband some months before, not so coincidentally about the same issue. She remembered Andrea showing up at the top of the stairs with the Book and a look very similar to the one she was wearing right now. She sure had impeccable timing when it came to walking in on Miranda unannounced. She knew she should have sent her home hours ago and waited for the Book herself._

_This time, however, she didn't have the energy to punish her. What was the point, anyway? Andrea would accomplish anything she'd throw her way and then give her that smug grin that did strange things to Miranda's stomach._

_She settled on glaring instead, pushing back her own feelings of terror, until Andrea looked about ready to pass out and wordlessly placed the coffee on her desk before turning around and making a beeline for the door._

_Then, to Miranda's own astonishment, she called, "Andrea?"_

_And Andrea stopped in her tracks, turning back cowardly, looking like she was trying to fold in on herself. "Yes?" she squeaked and her timidness delighted Miranda, made her feel a little bit better._

_"Do you have something to say?" she asked, hearing her voice come out low and dangerous. What was she doing? Making sure Andrea didn't open her mouth to anyone? Of course she wouldn't. She knew Andrea enough to know she wouldn't. Besides, what would she say? "I heard Miranda fight with her husband?" Hardly news worthy. No, she should just keep her mouth shut and let Andrea keep her mouth shut and pretend this encounter never happened._

_And yet, she found herself arching an eyebrow at her assistant, waiting for a response. Maybe because she always derived some sort of joy from challenging this particular assistant. It was almost... fun, watching her struggle but come out on top, every time. In that moment, though, she was definitely not having any fun, and Andrea looked more terrified than she'd seen her in all the months she'd worked for her. She quickly shook her head. "No, Miranda."_

_Then Miranda stared at her. And stared some more. And Andrea stared back. And, bizarrely, Miranda felt a pang of disappointment. She couldn't make out its meaning._

_Eventually, she gave Andrea a slight nod and looked away, muttering, "That's all." This was getting too uncomfortable and Miranda didn't do uncomfortable. Soon she would send Andrea home and she would go home, too, and hopefully by tomorrow both of them would forget this whole mess._

_She glued her eyes back to her laptop screen, willing her mind to focus back on what she'd been doing before the whole disastrous conversation with Stephen had taken place._

_"Actually, I do have something to say."_

_Her head snapped up to see Andrea still standing at the entrance to her office, slowly making her way forward. She looked calmer suddenly, more collected, as if a switch had been flicked inside her head. Miranda couldn't keep the surprise from her features. The audacity of that girl... and yet Miranda didn't rebuke her, for some insane reason beyond her._

_Instead, she lifted her eyebrow again and tilted her head to the side, waiting to hear what she had to say. She did give her what she hoped was a pretty scary look and it seemed to be working because Andrea's face suddenly showed uncertainty. But at the next moment, she took a deep breath and said, "He shouldn't treat you like that." Her voice was small and Miranda's other eyebrow lifted. "It's-it's not right."_

_"Excuse me?" was all she could think to say, her voice deadly. She was going to end this girl, bury her. Fire her and blacklist her from every job in New York City. By the time she was done with her, she'd be lucky to get a job at_ Chuck E. Cheese _._

_But, at the same time, she was kind of impressed, too. She was giving Andrea her best flesh melting glare, but, shockingly, Andrea's flesh didn't melt. In fact, she seemed bolstered by her statement (and probably the fact that she hadn't turned to stone immediately after saying it) and approached Miranda's desk further. This could be dangerous, for Miranda._

_"I'm just saying," she said slowly, hesitantly. "I saw how he treated you that night, at the benefit. Remember?"_

_Oh, yes, Miranda remembered. Another time Andrea had witnessed her dysfunctional marriage, along with the rest of New York's elite. It was also Andrea who had so graciously distracted Irv when her husband had started spouting drunken insults at him. Andrea, who would have had nothing to gain by that, who had been willing to put herself in the line of fire to protect Miranda, even if it meant meddling in her private business. Andrea, who was meddling right now shamelessly, like she had every right to._

_"I just..." She shrugged. "I didn't like seeing the way he was talking to you. You deserve someone better, someone who knows how to appreciate you."_

_As the last of her words left her lips, Miranda's heart suddenly started pounding in her chest and she felt her throat close up because, out of nowhere, this crazy, outrageous, absolutely impossible thought came to her:_ Someone like you?

 _It shook her entire being like nothing ever had before. This 20-something-year-old was standing before her--the one who made coffee runs for her every day and fetched scarves from_ Hermès _\--and it was all coming together frighteningly: the fascination, the curiosity, the need to challenge and scare that went beyond her normal attitude for her underlings, just so she could see Andrea one-up her._

_It was insane. It was wrong, wrong, wrong, so very wrong, yet the more she stared at Andrea, the more it made sense, and oh, god, she had to be seriously tired because it couldn't make sense, because she had to be imagining the soft expression Andrea's face had suddenly taken, like she was thinking the same thing, like..._

_...like she could see Miranda freaking out--because no other assistant had ever been able to read her better than Andrea--and she was taking pity on her, which was just unacceptable and humiliating and she was going to_ bury _her._

_But not before..._

_She assumed what she hoped was her most nonchalant expression, the one she gave to people who weren't worthy of her attention, and hoped to god that it masked the turmoil of emotions behind it. Because if Andrea wanted to play this game, she would show her just what kind of a winner Miranda was._

_Brushing her index finger against pursed lips, she shot Andrea a piercing, intent look that was notorious for making people tremble in fear. It had made Andrea tremble in fear on more than one occasion. But not now. Now she was standing in front of Miranda, surer than before, surer than she'd ever seemed. Just like the flick of a switch._

_Miranda was crossing a line, she knew she was. They both were. But then again, tonight seemed to be the night of crossing lines, like there was something in the air, like neither of them could help it. Perhaps it was the late hour and the empty, dark office. Like being at school at night. Nothing felt real and everything felt possible. Like an alternate universe._

_"And who might that be, Andrea?" she asked, her voice so soft she wondered if Andrea had heard her._

_But she had, because her chest expanded with a drawn breath and then--oh, no--she started making her way closer, around Miranda's desk, closer--_

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no._

_And before she knew what was happening, Andrea was above her, her soft, warm hands cupping her face, and her lips--_

_Oh, god. Miranda had never kissed a woman before and it was so very different from kissing a man. So much softer and there was a delicious lack of stubble and this was what Miranda had wanted, this was what she hadn't known she wanted, and Andrea apparently wanted it, too, she wasn't imagining now. Andrea's lips were on hers, caressing with tenderness that made_ her _tremble, and this could be bad for her. This_ was _bad for her. What was she doing?!_

_When she pushed Andrea away, her chest tightened painfully and her lips felt bereft instantly. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, her head was swimming, Andrea looked beautiful._

_It was as though she was seeing her for the first time. Her big eyes and her clear skin and had her lips always been this full and red?_

_Now they were slightly parted and Andrea was staring down at her and she finally looked appeopriately spooked. Because they'd crossed a line. A line they shouldn't have crossed and Miranda wasn't sure they could come back from this. They could come back from furtive glances and outfit perusals and they could pretend Andrea hadn't heard her argue with her husband on the phone, but now Andrea had kissed her, she had kissed her and, oh..._

_Her lips had been soft and Miranda wanted more and Andrea looked like she was two seconds away from crying because Miranda still hadn't said anything._

_She should fire her, right now, on the spot. Tell her to pack her things and not come back tomorrow morning. But then... Andrea would not come back tomorrow morning and Miranda would never see her again and just the thought of that was more painful than the prospect not kissing her again._

_She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, trying to calm her heart rate and regulate her breathing. With her eyes still closed, she muttered, "Go home."_

_She heard an intake of breath--a shuddering breath. But not the sound of feet. Andrea was still standing before her, she could just sense her, and she had to summon every ounce of will power to not open her eyes and look again into those wide eyes because then she wouldn't be able to help it, she wouldn't be able to stop and--_

_She heard Andrea's heels, clacking quickly across the floor, the sound moving further and further away from her. Then it quieted and resumed a few moments later and Miranda kept her eyes closed until she heard the_ ping _of the elevator and the sound was gone._

\---

That night she went home, locked herself in the bathroom, and washed her face. And washed her face some more.

Stephen was outside, sleeping in her--their--bed and she felt only a slight pang of guilt for not even thinking about the fact she was married when Andrea had kissed her. For not stopping Andrea hecause of _that_. And she wondered if Andrea was also seeing someone.

And now, five months later, she's lying on her back on a hotel bed, her coat shucked off to the side Andrea occupied earlier. She has no idea how long it's been since Andrea stormed out in tears and she doesn't care. Eventually she'll have to go home, back to her family, back to her life. But for now she can't move.

She stares at the ceiling and wonders how she let her life go so wrong.

The next morning, Andrea was sitting at her desk when she walked in, not looking at her. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen and Miranda doubted she was actually seeing anything.

She spent the rest of the day avoiding Andrea at all costs, delegating everything to Emily, who tried not to look too confused.

The next few days at the office were awkward, to say the least, but Miranda was determined to move past that... little incident, and resume a normal work routine.

Until the next week, when she'd forgotten a binder of proofs that had to be looked over on her desk and had to return to the office instead of telling Andrea to bring it by when she came over with the Book and the dry cleaning. Not convenient at all, she told herself, and definitely accidental.

The office was dark again and empty and Andrea was sitting at her desk, reading a _Runway_ issue under the light of her desk lamp.

Miranda stopped in her tracks. And stared. She looked beautiful. Etheral almost, with the soft, golden glow of the lamp and her face in profile, head tilted down toward the magazine. Her hair was up in a ponytail, revealing a slender neck and an ear adorned by a silver teardrop earring.

And that was it.

Miranda chuckles to herself, though the sound lacks humor. It was that easy. One moment there hadn't been Andrea and her and the next there was.

They came up with a system shortly after that. Office sex was off limits; it was unprofessional and quite risky, as they found out once after almost getting caught following a quick tryst in Miranda's executive bathroom. And they couldn't use their respective houses either since both were occupied by significant others, as Miranda had learned. They tried not to dwell on the guilt; that was a waste of time they could spend doing far more pleasurable things.

So they agreed on a hotel, an inconspicuous one where chances of Miranda being followed by paparazzi to were slim. Just in case, though, Andrea would make the reservations (for a standard room instead of a suite like Miranda was used to) and wait in the room while Miranda slipped by reception unnoticed.

And just like that, they fell into a comfortable rhythm. Whenever their schedules permitted, they would meet at that hotel room and fall into a familiar embrace.

Lesbian sex was plenty unfamiliar in the beginning, though. And awkward. Neither of them had ever been with another woman before and it was definitely different to sleeping with a man. Better, actually, once they'd gotten the hang of it. Miranda still doesn't know if that makes her a lesbian, but what she does know is that sex had never felt so good before Andrea.

As time passed, it became more than that. The frenzy had abated and there wasn't always the urgency to have sex. Instead, they'd eat together or sit and talk.

Miranda learned about Andrea's aspirations to become an investigative journalist and requested to see things she had written, which Andrea was all too enthusiastic to provide. And the girl had talent. She did. She still had a lot to learn and could use the practice, but the potential was definitely there.

In return, Miranda gradually opened up about her past: her childhood, her parents, her fight to climb to the very top. She told her things she had never told a soul, not even her husbands. And Andrea listened attentively and asked questions and stroked her hair and loved her.

Of course she loved her. Loves her.

Miranda has seen it happening, for months now. She has been watching Andrea fall in love with her and it never was about sex for her, even before she kissed Miranda that fateful night in the office.

It wasn't about sex for Miranda either, it never was. Otherwise she wouldn't have put everything at risk for this girl: her family, her job, her reputation. Not for an itch that needed to be scratched and not for five whole months.

But now it was time to stop because... because she has fallen in love with Andrea, too.

She sighs and rubs her hands across her face, not giving a shit about her make-up.

She loves Andrea. She loves Andrea and not her husband and she's stuck. Because, unlike Andrea, she has children to consider, children who will be affected no matter what she does and so she needs to make the choice that will hurt them the least, even if it hurts her the most.

She will make things right with Stephen and they'll be happy again. She'll learn how to love him again, she'll make more effort, be more present, and Andrea will be a thing of the past. A mistake she'll look back on years from now and laugh at her stupidity and weakness.

She'll forget her. She has to. They'll go back to being editor and assistant and life will resume on the right track. After all, feelings are meant to be ignored, pushed down to never be dealt with.

Andrea will get over her, too. She's young-- _god_ , a lot younger--and she has her whole life ahead of her. She'll either patch things up with her own boyfriend or move on and date many other boys or girls; people appropriate for her.

And she'll find exactly the job she wants, easily with her talent and promise, and climb up the corporate ladder just like Miranda did, because she can see so much of herself in Andrea, even if Andrea is not aware of it, of her own strength and wisdom and power.

She'll go on to do great things and she'll be great and everything will be great and none of it will be Miranda's business anymore.

With a heavy heart, she gets up and dons her coat. She walks over to the table, where her _Prada_ bag still sits patiently, and grabs it.

Then she turns around and looks around the room, one last time. She tries to commit every detail to memory, every image of her and Andrea on the bed: talking, laughing, making love.

She can see Andrea holding her wrists hostage while she whispers sweet nothings in Miranda's ear, or herself pinning Andrea to the door and kissing her.

She can see them sitting at the table and having take-out dinner while Andrea tells her about a phone conversation she had with her parents, back in Cincinatti. And she can see them both laughing about Emily's antics while Andrea rolls her eyes and tells her she's too mean and Emily works really hard, because no matter how evil Emily is to her, Andrea is too good, too pure.

And she'll never roll her eyes again at Miranda or tell her about her day or kiss her and whisper in her ear. And Miranda will have to live with that because she made a choice and it was the right choice. And she'll have to keep telling herself that. Until she finally believes it.

 

**ANDY**

Andy stops outside the door and wipes the last of the moisture from around her eyes. She did a good job removing her eye make-up, but she hopes her nose isn't too red. She can blame it on the cold outside, if Nate even notices.

The people on the subway noticed, and gave her weird--and some pitiful--looks. It was beyond embarrassing, crying on public transport, but she couldn't help herself. The tears just kept coming and coming of their own volition, and then they were accompannied by hiccups and shaky breaths and snot and she wanted to bury herself.

Thankfully, she managed to calm herself enough during the walk from the subway station to her building. The walk did her some good; she got some fresh air and had time to clear her head.

But now she is standing outside her apartment, knowing that Nate is inside, probably sitting in a T-shirt and boxers and hairy legs and watching TV, and for some reason, that mental image makes her so angry.

She's angry at Miranda for being the biggest bitch to ever grace the earth and she's angry at Nate for existing and she's mostly angry at herself for making her life so damn complicated.

She wishes she never even met Miranda Priestly.

Unlocking the door, she steps inside and, sure enough, there is Nate, wearing a T-shirt and boxers and watching TV. His legs hairy. So unlike Miranda's smooth, silken skin.

He was upset this morning about her having to work on a Saturday. She wonders how he would feel about a booty call with her boss instead. Well, that didn't happen either. So he'd probably gloat about her getting dumped, and then dump her, too.

"Hey." He looks up from the TV and smiles at her and that makes her even angrier because how dare he smile at her when her world is falling apart? "You're back early. Don't tell me, she only called you to bring her coffee?"

And then she wants to kill him, because she would rather spend the rest of her life getting Miranda coffee than be with him and his anti-Miranda, anti- _Runway_ attitude.

She doesn't kill him. Instead, she tosses her bag on the floor (and Miranda can _suck_ it with her "no designer bags on the floor" rule) and strides toward the couch, where she straddles him, grabs the TV remote from his placcid hand, and throws it somewhere behind her.

Then she's kissing him, hard and bruising, a far cry from the way she kisses Miranda. Kissed.

Her skirt rides up her thighs and she grabs the hemline of his shirt and yanks it up. In the mere seconds it takes her to disengage from his lips to pull the shirt over his head, he exhales a breath and leans his head back to get a better look at her face. She doesn't want him looking at her.

"Andy?" He sounds utterly bewildered, but still his hands come to rest on her hips. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

No. She's not okay. She's the farthest she could be from okay and she is absolutely not going to talk about it; not with him, not with anybody. Instead, she pulls her skirt higher up her thighs and asks roughly, "Are you gonna fuck me or what?"

Which seems to spur him into action. His eyes widen (perhaps because he's not used to her being this blunt or using profanities frequently--well, too bad because this is her second "fuck" of the day) and he grabs her harder, making to flip her to lie beneath him.

Well, she's having none of it. She grounds her knees into the couch and pins him hard against the back of it, growling, "I'm on top."

\---

_Andy took another bite out of her cheeseburger and groaned._

_"Do you know how many calories are in that?" Miranda asked from her position under the bed covers, her face contorting into a look of such disgust that Andy had to keep from laughing._

_"Mhm. A delicious amount," she answered around a mouthful and Miranda looked about ready to throw up._

_Miranda may or may not have scheduled a nonexistent meeting for lunch and Andy may or may not have followed her to the town car, fully preparing to take notes until Miranda's driver had dropped them off outside an office building she'd seen on more than one occasion on her way to their hotel (that was what she called it now--it sounded domestic almost), which Miranda had then proceeded to lead them to on foot without saying a word._

_Which was far from professional, but who could blame her? They hadn't had a chance to be alone together for a whole week and Miranda had obviously been horny. Andy had, too._

_So here they were now: fully satiated, Miranda lying next to her while Andy sat on top of the covers, confident in her nudity, enjoying the cheeseburger and fries she'd ordered from Room Service. Actually, this was her second cheeseburger--the first one she'd devoured while Miranda had delicately cut through her steak. Which was probably the real reason for her looking at Andy like this, but Andy knew it was just an act. Miranda would never admit it, but Andy knew she found her endearing._

_And if she wanted to get fat, she would and there was nothing Miranda could do to stop her._

_"A lump of processed meat and who knows what else," Miranda muttered, cringing at the offending item in Andy's hands._

_"Cheese, and lettuce and tomatoes and onions and pickles," Andy provided for her, aware of how dreamy her voice sounded. This was one of the best cheeseburgers she'd ever had._

_"That's disgusting."_

_"It's better than your steak," she retorted, just to piss Miranda off._

_"I highly doubt that," Miranda replied predictably in her snooty tone._

_Then, to really get on her nerves, Andy leaned closer and took a large bite right in front of her face, chewing loudly and humming, "Mm-MM-mm."_

_And Miranda, right on cue, rolled her eyes and stretched her arm toward the nightstand to check the time on her phone. When she did, her breast slid out of the blanket and Andy's drooling had nothing to do with her cheeseburger._

_"You should try it," she said when Miranda turned back to her, extending the food in question toward her. Miranda pushed her hand back, careful not to even touch it._

_"I'll pass. I'd rather not give myself a heart attack just yet."_

_"Oh, because consuming red meat on a regular basis is so much better for your health?" Andy teased, taking another bite. She didn't even flinch when Miranda glared at her; that didn't work on her anymore, much to Miranda's chagrin._

_But, really, how could anyone be afraid of her after being kissed so thoroughly by her and hearing her beg to be allowed to come? Andy felt invincible._

_Which gave her an idea, knowing that the chances of Miranda kicking her out of bed now where below zero. Throwing one leg over her hips, she straddled a horrified Miranda and leaned down with a delighted grin._

_"Come on," she prodded, pushing the burger closer to Miranda's face, "try it."_

_Miranda's expression of terror was comical as she shoved Andy's arms away. "Have you lost your mind? Get this away from me."_

_"Come on," Andy laughed._

_"Get off me." She pushed at her hips now, but soon a smile broke out on her face and Andy could tell that she was restraining from laughing and that she wasn't in any real trouble._

_Deciding not to push it, she took one last bite and put the burger back in its plate on the other side of the bed. Then it was Miranda who grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her and Andy snickered against her lips through a closed mouth, knowing that Miranda definitely would not appreciate getting chewed up food in her mouth. Talk about processed meat._

_When Andy sat back on her hips, Miranda ran her hands on her bare thighs and she was smiling that smile that was reserved just for Andy and made her feel like the luckiest person in the world._

_She loved how intimacy with Miranda didn't necessarily mean sex. The entire relationship they had developed was filled with intimacy: the looks they gave one another when no one was watching, their conversations, the soft touches. Who would have thought Miranda could be such a softy with someone she--_

_Loved? God, Andy hoped she loved her. She hoped it wasn't one-sided because she was crazy about Miranda. They'd only been at it for a little over three months and already she couldn't picture her life without her._

_And, yes, she knew that what they had was... complicated, to say the least. They were sneaking around, they were cheating. She wasn't even sure theirs could be classified as a real relationship, but it felt real. It_ was _real. What she and Miranda had--it couldn't get more real than that._

_She loved her. And she had a feeling Miranda loved her right back._

_"What are you smiling about?" Miranda asked._

_She hadn't even realized she was smiling. "Nothing," she answered, still smiling, knowing she looked like a complete idiot and not caring a bit._

_"Hmm." Miranda clearly wasn't buying it._

_"Just that I can't believe the great Miranda Priestly is scared of a sad, little cheeseburger," she teased, getting off Miranda and moving her plate to her nightstand. "What would people say?"_

_"I'm not scared, I'm revolted," Miranda stated._

_"_ Hmm _," she copied Miranda, giving her a mischievous smile. Miranda rolled her eyes so hard Andy worried they might not come all the way back around._

_"We don't have much time left, darling," she changed the subject. Andy's heart fell at the prospect of having to return to work soon and losing this closeness. "What do you want to do?"_

_Grinning, she replied, "I want you to sit on my face."_

_Miranda's eyes sparkled instantly. "Well, then." And she threw back the covers._

\---

On Monday morning, just a little after 10 A.M., Andy sits at her desk, fiddling with the envelope in her hands.

Miranda arrived at the office earlier and stopped in front of Andy's desk with her hands on her coat lapels. And they stared at each other. Miranda's face was blank, blanker than Andy had ever seen it. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away.

She refused to believe Miranda was so heartless as to really not have felt anything for her, to really have seen her as a sex toy like she'd said. Because Andy had seen the way Miranda had looked at her, touched her, talked to her. That couldn't have been a ploy just to get in Andy's pants--it hadn't been.

But that didn't change the fact that Miranda had so coldly kicked her to the curb the second things had gotten serious. That didn't change the fact that she had ripped Andy's heart to shreds so carelessly and cruelly. She hadn't even been open to have a conversation, to let Andy say her piece. Andy had a say in this, too, dammit! Both of them were in this relationship.

At least Miranda had the decency not to toss her coat and bag at Andy. Instead, they landed on Emily's desk, much to Emily's shock, and Andy assumed that even Miranda had her boundaries.

She wondered if she'd cried yesterday after dumping Andy, like Andy had in the shower after her unsatisfactory sex with Nate.

Filling her lungs with air, Andy tightens her grasp on the envelope and gets up. She has made a decision.

She walks by Emily--who frowns up at her because what is she doing waltzing into Miranda's office without being summoned first?--and enters the devil's lair. At least that's how she'd always thought of it before everything changed. Now she might adopt the nickname again.

Miranda is busy looking over proofs from the latest photoshoot when she stops by her desk and puts down the envelope.

Miranda's head snaps up and their eyes meet. Andy can just make out the intrigue in her eyes before she masks it with the usual regal look. She clears her throat and asks, "What's this?" in a quiet voice, sounding bored.

Andy wants to cry at how reminiscent this is of when they were just boss and employee. And she wants to slap Miranda across the face and give her an Oscar because no way is she that dense.

"My letter of resignation," she answers thickly, matching her tone to Miranda's so Emily won't hear.

And this time Miranda can't hide the flashing of her eyes and the flaring of her nostrils. She looks like she is only seconds away from breathing fire in Andy's face or shooting laser beams from her eyes. Andy fears she might make a scene, but a small part of her hopes she does. She hopes Miranda will beg her to stay and come back to her and promise that they'll be okay, that everything will be--

No. No, no way. No way in god damn hell. Miranda hurt her. She really hurt her, more than Andy had ever thought she was capable. She was mean and cruel and for no reason, just because she didn't know how not to be. Just because she'd gotten scared. She did the most un-Mirandaesque thing and quit and now Andy is quitting and Miranda can go to hell.

Miranda stares at the unopened envelope on her desk--more like glares at it, willing it to catch flames and vanish--before controlling her face and looking, or at least trying to look uninterested. She pushes the envelope away, back toward Andy, and simply says, "No."

And Andy gawks because really? "I quit, Miranda," she states matter-of-factly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Andrea, you're not quitting," she rebukes her.

"Yes, I am!" Andy argues before realizing her voice has risen and hissing, "You don't get to tell me what to do, you've lost that right."

Miranda's nostrils flare again and her jaw clenches. Andy fears she really might kill her. She lets out a mirthless chuckle and throws her arms at her sides. "You can't honestly expect me to keep working for you after everything. To bring you coffee every time you whistle like nothing happened? I mean, really? This is unhealthy, for both of us. It's been unhealthy from the beginning."

When she's done talking, she notices Miranda's face has paled considerably. Perhaps she's realized Andy is being serious. Perhaps she's actually afraid of losing her. That'd be nice. And too little, too late. Miranda needs to understand that she can't have her cake and eat it, too. She's made her choice and Andy will respect that choice because, even through all of her anger and hurt, she can understand why Miranda made it, but she's not going to be a masochist and make herself see Miranda every day, run her errands for her, and smile and say, "Yes, Miranda," every time Miranda finishes talking to her.

"I'll put in my two weeks, but after that I'm done," she says calmly, ignoring the storm going on inside her head. She had all of Saturday afternoon and Sunday to think about it and she knows this is the right move for her. Even if it means never seeing Miranda again.

Of course she can only dream of a letter of recommendation from Miranda and is definitely not about to ask. Miranda might just decide to twist the knife a little further and tell any potential future employer not to hire her. Maybe she'll ask Nigel.

"That won't be necessary," Miranda says quietly and Andy sees that some color has returned to her face. She's no longer looking at Andy, but back down at her notes, and Andy opens her mouth to argue, thinking Miranda is going to make this even harder for her, when she continues, "You can leave right now. Stop by HR on your way out."

And Andy's words die in her throat. She gapes at Miranda. And she fights the tears that are threatening to spill out, because she hoped Miranda would fight for her. She did hope, of course she did, and not just a small part of her. This was her last hope and Miranda crushed that, too. Of course she did.

Andy sniffs and nods mutely, but doesn't move. She wants Miranda to look at her--Miranda doesn't. She feels rooted to the spot.

So this is it. This is what the end feels like. Like nothing mattered--like the last five months have been a figment of her imagination.

When she finally wills her legs to move, they're shaking. Her entire body is shaking. She walks to her desk and grabs her bag, then opens the closet and pulls out her coat. She doesn't bother putting it on.

She forgets all about Emily's presence in the room until she hears her snooty, British accent while she's heading toward the doors. "Where exactly are you going?"

She doesn't bother replying. She keeps walking, wondering if Miranda is watching from her office.

\---

_Andy stood up from her desk and headed into Miranda's office._

_"Just wanted to let you know that Nina from_ Bark Avenue Grooming _called and Patricia is ready to come home, and also that you look sexy with those glasses."_

_Miranda looked up from her laptop and cocked an eyebrow. Andy smiled innocently. Miranda leaned back in her chair. "Pick her up tomorrow and take her to the townhouse."_

_"No problem." Andy nodded, her smile widening. "And what about the other thing?"_

_Miranda's lips slowly curled up in a smirk and she curled her finger at Andy, beckoning her to come closer. Andy came willingly, perching on the edge of the desk. Miranda sent a quick glance toward the outer office, but there was no one there. It was late and dark and everyone had gone home--except for the last people working on the Book and the cleaning crew, but it would be a while before either got to Miranda's office._

_Miranda's hand traveled up Andy's knee until it reached the hem of her grey pencil skirt and started running across the skin. It felt good; warm and soft and familiar._

_Andy reached and removed Miranda's glasses from her face and Miranda let her. They'd reached a level of comfort with each other that Andy was grateful for._

_She put the glasses on and asked, "Are you turned on?" Then she blinked and took them off. "Jeez, you're blind."_

_Miranda, of course, rolled her eyes, but only to conceal her amusement. "They're reading glasses," she said as she snatched them from Andy's hand and placed them on the desk._

_"Can you even see me right now?" Andy teased._

_"You're about to be kicked out," she intoned nonchalantly, but her voice was playful enough that Andy knew she wasn't actually in trouble._

_Miranda's hand returned to her knee and Andy reached and took it in her own, rubbing her thumb across the back of it. Miranda rubbed back and their eyes caught before they both smiled._

_"So, I was thinking," Andy began as Miranda leaned back again and looked up at her. "What do you think about going away?" Miranda arched her eyebrow._

_"Next weekend, maybe. You can tell your husband that, I don't know, Donatella absolutely has to see you because she's having, like, a hair crisis or something." Miranda snorted. "And I'll tell Nate that my bitchy boss is making me come along even though it's the weekend because she is_ such _a bitch,"--Andy feigned an exasperated groan--"and we'll go somewhere romantic. It'll be just the two of us."_

_Miranda sighed and caressed her hand some more. "I admire your resourcefulness, darling, but I'm afraid that won't work."_

_Andy pouted and gave her her best impression of puppy dog eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look," she reprimanded gently and squeezed her hand. "It's not so simple. Besides, I have the girls next weekend and they'll probably want me home."_

_Andy sighed. She was disappointed, but she understood--she hadn't really expected Miranda to say yes. She squeezed her hand back to show that there were no hard feelings. "Maybe some other time."_

_Miranda hummed noncommittally, but didn't respond. Andy wondered if she would ever leave Stephen, if she herself would ever get the courage to leave Nate. She wondered if they had any sort of future together, a future beyond sneaking around and lying to everyone._

_And then Miranda, seemingly reading her mind, smiled up at her and said, "Come here," while tugging on her hand and Andy went happily, settling sideways on Miranda's lap and wrapping her arms around her neck. Miranda sneaked another glance at the outer office before wrapping her own arms around Andy's form and kissing her._

_Yes, they had a future, Andy thought. They had to._

\---

Andy spends the subway ride home thinking about Miranda. Maybe she should have insisted on going away with her last weekend. That way Miranda might have been able to see how good they were together, like a real couple, that they could work. And maybe then she wouldn't have broken up with her instead.

She wishes she never even kissed her that first night. It would have saved her a lot of heartache.

She can now admit to herself that she never really thought Miranda would leave Stephen. She hates him and she feels nothing for him and he's a crappy husband, but her daughters have already seen her go through one divorce and she's already sending them to a therapist to deal with that taruma and the stress of being the children of someone like Miranda Priestly, who's constantly busy ruling the fashion industry with an iron fist and constantly in the media's eye.

Stephen has brought a sort of stability to her family--a father figure. And the girls have truly grown to like him.

Leaving him to be with Andy--of all people--would have been pulling the ground from underneath their feet. They would have had to adjust to a new life again and they would have been exposed to the media and to all the harsh things everyone would have, no doubt, had to say about their mother, and their father might have tried to sue for custody because obviously this meant Miranda had gone nuts. Not to mention, they would have now had a new... what? Stepmother? Was Andy ever even ready for that role? Perhaps Miranda already knew that she wasn't. And her one encounter with the girls certainly didn't go that well. They would have resented her and they would have resented Miranda for doing this to them, because when you're a kid, your parents' happiness is far less important than yours.

And Miranda knows that. Miranda acknowledges that nothing in the world is as important as her daughters, and if giving up her own happiness and staying with Stephen out of an obligation--even now, when she's wiser and knows that she will definitely never love him the way he needs her to--if that means her daughters might get a chance at having a semblance of a normal childhood, then Miranda will do that without thinking twice.

Andy, on the other hand--what reason does she have to have stayed with Nate this long? She definitely doesn't love him anymore and their relationship has been going downhill since the day she started liking her job--way before Miranda and her even.

These days, they barely even talk anymore, much less have sex. Nate resents her job and the person she's become (just because she's started dressing better? If only he knew.) and Andy, in turn, resents Nate. For the last five months, most available moments she's had have been spent with Miranda instead of at home with her boyfriend.

She should have left him long ago, but then she's been telling herself that if she left him and Miranda ended up leaving her--like she did--she would be left with no one. She would have broken up with him in vain, for a woman who didn't even want her. Doesn't matter that Andy doesn't want Nate.

But that's just bullshit. Andy isn't afraid of being alone. She doesn't need a man--or a woman, for that matter--to take care of her or boost her self-esteem.

No, she believes that some part of her, a small part, kept Nate around to spite Miranda. To tell her, "You won't leave your husband for me so I won't leave my boyfriend for you." Some part of her has known from the start that Miranda would never really be hers. And she kept Nate around as a prop. A plaything, like Miranda called her.

She feels sick with herself. What has Miranda turned her into? No. What has she turned into? It's time to stop blaming others for her fuck-ups. Andy has been a willing participant since day one--no one forced her into anything. In fact, she was the one to start everything. She did.

And now it's time to clean up her mess.

Entering her apartment, her steps are heavy, as is her heart. She discards her bag and keys on a side table by the door just as Nate walks out of the bedroom. Thankfully no boxers this time.

"Andy? What are you doing here?"

She realizes she's still somewhat in a state of shock when she can't register his question. What does he mean, what is she doing here? She lives here. But then she remembers it's not even 11 A.M. yet and snaps out of her trance enough to say, "I quit." It comes out hollow and empty, as if said by someone else from far away. She quit. Quit _Runway_. Miranda.

Nate's eyes widen and he exhales. "You're kidding." Then he grins from ear to ear and nods. "Good for you, Andy. Seriously, good for you. I'm proud of you. This is so good, you'll see. Now you can finally be free and--"

"I want to break up."

He shuts up. And stares at her. And finally, Andy stares back, exhaling her own heavy breath and slouching her shoulders. Finally.

"What?" he mutters.

"I want to break up," she repeats, slowly returning to herself.

Nate gapes at her, looking distraught. Is he, really? Has he really not seen it coming? Does he actually still want to be with her? Does he still love her? "Why?"

She lets out a sudden, disbelieving chuckle and then covers her mouth when she sees his insulted expression. "Nate, we're... we're not right for each other. It hasn't been working for a while, haven't you noticed?"

"Well, sure, maybe," he stammers, frowning. "But now that you no longer work at that place--"

"No," she cuts him off, moving closer. She touches his arm and he looks down at her hand as if he's never seen it before. "It's not about my job. It's us. We-we grew apart, we've changed. We haven't been making each other happy for a long time. I haven't been happy. Have you?"

His face looks thoughtful. He doesn't seem angry, not really. He looks surprised, and disappointed, but kind of relieved, too. Andy doesn't think she has a right to be offended, but she still feels a small pinch at that. Clearly she has some work to do on herself because she's been a pretty awful person the last five months. Maybe some time alone will do her good after all.

"No, I guess I haven't," Nate finally answers.

"I'm really sorry, Nate," she whispers, because there was a time when she really did love him. He'll always have a special place in her heart. "I wish it could have worked out differently."

"Yeah, well." He disengages from her and moves into the bedroom. She stands in the doorway while he starts opening drawers and removing his clothes. "Guess that means I'm moving out."

"No, no," Andy startles, feeling like a real bitch. "You really don't have to do that. You did nothing wrong." Boy, he has no idea.

"It's, uh... it's okay." He puts a stack of T-shirts on the bed and turns to face her, scratching his head. Now he looks uncomfortable. And guilty. Andy frowns. "I, uh, have an interview at the _Oak Room_ next week. In Boston."

Andy's brows fly up. Huh. She didn't know about that. Then again, they really haven't been talking much lately. Or doing anything together. They've been more like two strangers living in the same house and sharing a bed.

"They're looking for a new sous-chef and I applied," he continues. "If I get the job, it could be big for me and, you know, my career."

"That's great, Nate." She forces a smile. She only feels slightly wronged, but then she reminds herself she's been keeping a lot of secrets from him, too. Still, Nate has had no problem complaining about her job coming between them, but once he saw an opportunity to further his own career, he took it without even consulting her. Knowing it would come between them.

"I spoke to a friend in Boston. He's gonna let me crash on his couch until I figure things out. You know, if I get the job," he adds.

Andy nods. "I hope it all works out for you. You deserve to be happy."

Then his hands are on her shoulders and he's smiling that crooked smile that made her fall in love with him all those years ago. "You, too, Andy. You deserve to be happy, too."

She can tell that he genuinely means that, and for a wild second, she's dying to confide in him, like a friend, about Miranda and about her broken heart and about how she has no idea what she's going to do now going forward. Because she's never told a soul about any of it and it's been eating away at her and now she doesn't even have Miranda to comfort her.

But she says nothing. She smiles tightly and helps him pack and shortly thereafter he's gone and she's alone for the first time in a long time. And she wonders what she's going to do next.

 

**MIRANDA**

Miranda Priestly has just realized something: she's made a terrible mistake.

A month ago, Andrea Sachs walked out of her life. A month ago, she kicked Andrea Sachs out of her life. She still remembers the day Andrea put that resignation letter on her desk vividly. She remembers the cold terror that washed over her entire body, the paralyzing fear that this was it. She had lost Andrea.

How foolish of her was it to think that Andrea would agree to stay on as her assistant after hurting her so. Of course she wouldn't. Andrea has way too much self-respect for that and, Miranda is beginning to realize, Andrea turned out to be a lot smarter than her.

So she let her go. More like commanded her to go, practically shooing her out of her office and hurting Andrea even more than she already had, if the tears in her eyes were anything to go by.

All of that because Miranda was an idiot. She was an idiot who wasn't able to see that one of the best things that had ever happened to her--and probably ever will--was standing right in front of her eyes. Andrea came to her during an awful time in her personal life, when every day with Stephen was a nightmare she was trapped in, and Andrea was her knight in shining _Chanel_. Miranda never believed in true love, in finding The One, but Andrea was it.

And Miranda let her go.

And now she's miserable because she's still trapped in her nightmare of a marriage and last week her daughters' therapist informed her that her daughters didn't believe in happiness because their mom had it all but still never seemed to be happy.

She cried that night silently into her pillow while Stephen slept on beside her, oblivious. Here she'd been putting her kids' well-being before her own for months, believing that if she gave up on her own happiness, they would be okay, but she'd never considered that she was presenting them with a picture of what an unhealthy relationship looked like, probably setting them up for failure in their own future relationships and giving them all sorts of complications.

She stayed with Stephen to make them happy, not realizing that her daughters were far too smart not to notice how unhappy she was.

And now it's too late to tell Andrea that she was right and Miranda was wrong.

A few weeks ago, Greg Hill from _The New York Mirror_ called the office for a refrence on Andrea Sachs. Miranda sent him a fax herself, telling him that if he didn't hire Andrea, he was an idiot.

That seemed to do the trick because now she sees Andrea's name almost daily in her copy of _The Mirror_ , which she's recently subscribed to. She still hasn't written anything of substance--mostly obituaries and the occasional fluff piece--but Miranda knows she has a bright future ahead of her. She's going to do great things.

And Miranda wishes she could be a part of it. Wishes she could watch her grow and succeed and congratulate her on every new achievement with a kiss.

She wishes she hadn't been so scared, like Andrea told her, and thrown away something that could have been great. Something that _was_ great.

She knows she was a lot happier when Andrea was part of her life, even if it meant always coming home to Stephen at the end of the day. Because she always had her next meeting with Andrea to look forward to, and she always saw her radiant face at work, where she would smile at Miranda no matter how bitchy she was being.

That smile is engraved in Miranda's memory. Big and white and joyful. It warmed Miranda's icy cold heart. She wants to see it again. She wants to touch Andrea's skin and kiss every inch of her body and tell her that she loves her, she does, she's loved her all along. She wants so much. She wants--

She wants Andrea. She wants Andrea back.

She never wants to see tears in that girl's eyes again. And she wants her daughters to be happy and believe that happiness exists, becaus it does, it exists. She's seen it. She wants to be happy. Because, dammit, she deserves to be happy.

She wants...

When Stephen enters the dark bedroom, she's already in bed, pretending to be asleep. With her eyes closed, she listens to him enter the en suite and brush his teeth, and then she hears the light switch being flicked and feels the bed dip beside her.

Stephen doesn't cuddle her. Andrea always cuddled her.

She opens her eyes, adjusting to the darkness. She listens for his breathing, still too fast and uneven--he's still awake. They're like two strangers living in the same house, sharing a bed. She wants Andrea in that bed. She wants...

She wants...

"I want a divorce."

\---

On the day she serves Stephen divorce papers, she finds herself outside Andrea's apartmant. It's late afternoon. Her publicist issued a statement earlier and _Page Six_ has already picked it up and run with it enthusiastically. She wonders if Andrea has read about it. She wonders if she would be proud of her. Or if she'd even care.

She hopes Andrea will at least be proud of her for taking it upon herself to fish her address from her HR file instead of tasking the job to Emily.

To begin with, she hopes Andrea will open the door.

She has every right not to take Miranda back and Miranda fully intends on letting go of her pride and groveling.

Is the boyfriend inside? Will she be giving Andrea away when she knocks? Andrea can always claim that it's work-related. Unless she's finally dumped his ass on the street. She'll be better off without him, even if it means without Miranda, too. And she deserves far better than him, which Miranda knows is not her either.

She's done nothing but complicate Andrea's life and hurt her and Andrea can definitely do better than her. Deserves better than her. Better than an old, single mother of two, who's about to go through her second divorce and who'll always stay married to her job. Who will, no doubt, continue to make Andrea's life difficult and complicated if Andrea gives her a chance to, because she can't help it.

But she'll work hard, really hard to prove herself worthy of Andrea's love and forgiveness. She'll do the work, she'll try to become a better person, for Andrea. Because happiness is so rare to come by in life and she had that with Andrea. She gave it up once and she won't make that mistake again.

She is going to get Andrea back and they will finally be able to be together, out in the open, unapologetically.

No more games, no more secrecy, no more sneaking around in a dingy hotel room. She will bring Andrea home and introduce her to her daughters, who _will_ like her because it's impossible not to like Andrea. And she'll take her to her bed and make love to her again and again and again, and she'll let her eat all the cheeseburgers she wants. And, actually, Miranda will try one, too. She just decided that. She hopes it makes Andrea happy.

Now the only question is, will Andrea take her back?

All she needs right now is for Andrea to open the door. Just open the door.

She raises her fist and knocks.

And waits.

Nothing.

She hopes Andrea is home because she's not sure how much longer she can wait.

She knocks again.

And waits.

Andrea opens the door.

 

**_End._ **


End file.
